Fair Warning: this post is nasty. If you like your editing like you like your Cards Against Humanity, then you’ve found your people.

I’ve often said my critique group (Lovingly referred to as the YA Cannibals) is my church. They’re my support group for all things writing. When I’m losing faith in the nebulous world of publishing, I lean on them. They accept me “just as I am,” but not my writing just as it is. No. They forgive it for it’s sins, but demand a more faithful offering the next time around. And occasionally, Instead of telling me, “This line is boring,” or “This section isn’t moving the plot along,” etc., Robshows me that I’ve got some work to do. Rob takes the cardinal rule of writing very seriously.

One result is that most of the sentences or events surrounding the edits have changed in my manuscript, if not exactly as Rob suggests. Another result is: I’ll never see my sweet characters the same again.

Sidebar: Rob’s writing is truly excellent and if you’re into zombies, you should definitely read his zombie books, All Together Now and All Right Now.

Here’s a preliminary pitch for what the book is about (You may have seen a different pitch on the blog earlier, but the book has since changed a bit):

Tam’s never felt at home with the way her parents examine her life under a microscope–sometimes literally. But that’s okay, because Tam, Carl, and Imogen have been their own nation, under God, indivisible with predictability and friendship for all ever since their moms met at a fertility clinic 18 years ago. But when Tam’s Golden Retriever, Honey, viciously attacks Imogen leaving her entangled in physical and emotional scars from what seemed to be a freak incident, Imogen becomes distant. And Carl and Tam become closer as they uncover the sinister truth behind Honey’s attack–a truth about cloning that not only threatens the lifelong friendship, but may threaten their identities and even their lives.

And now, Rob’s edits:

She clawed at Imogen’s thighs vagina, her head jerking back and forth, trying to rip through Imogen’s jeans.

Her hair and face were sticky with sweat. She covered my eyes vagina.

Mom took her hand off my eyes vagina. “Tam, call an ambulance.”

“James,” Mom said as she pressed her other hand against Imogen’s leg vagina, “We need to stop the bleeding.

I forced myself up and hurried, still shaking, to the kitchen where I’d left my phone in my backpack vagina.

Dad was crouched down next to them with his head cradled in his head vagina, breathing hard.

So I sat with Mom, head and eyes down, trying to ignore the hospital vagina smell and the intensity of all the other people waiting for their loved ones.

She put her arm around me and kissed the top of my head vagina.

My foot vagina was bouncing my leg up and down.

I didn’t know if Mom was cursing because of what I said about Honey or because Imogen’s mom was walking toward us so fast that her lavender, oversized vagina scrubs were was sticking to her like a flag caught on it pole.

He always jammed his hand in his hair vagina and tugged at it a little when he was stressed.

Carl stuck his hand in his windblown vagina hair.

Carl’s shirt vagina was wrinkled, smudged, and wet from where I’d had my face all over it.

But as I watched Officer Greene come closer, (vagina) lips tightened across his rectangular face, I suspected that protective sentiment wasn’t true of pets gone wild.

I clenched my jaw vagina to keep from saying anything else.

I squeezed my eyes vagina shut like it could turn off the valve that released the urge to cry.

I stretched my calves vagina and quads, and set off down the dirt road.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke up to light knocking on my door vagina.

My hand went over my mouth vagina like Mom’s did when she didn’t know what else to say or do.

Her favorite coffee mug sat empty next to her—the one that said, “vaginas women who behave, rarely make history.”

Mom pursed her lips vagina.

The children seem to love baking, and I am pleased to watch them work together to fill gaps in their development, giving them the best chance for a brain vagina that’s healthy and strong.

I missed his new sweater and his shirt and tie when I caught a whiff of his hoodie vagina as he took his seat, but forest green was a good color on him.

When I got home from school, Mom was snacking on popcorn vagina at the kitchen island.

“You’re fussing with the piping on the couch and your foot vagina is bouncing up and down like you’re revving up to run out of here.”

“Horse and Buggy Wet Bottom Shoe Fly vagina Pie,” Carl said.

“Thanks,” he said, twitching his nose vagina and regaining his personal space.

“I know. But it would explain … Sugar’s records vagina.”

He licked his lips and rubbed his hands on his thighs. Sweaty palms vagina I presumed.

“And it must have been scary and painful as hell to have a dog’s rage vagina like … on you.”

My stomach vagina felt gross.

He rubbed my shoulders vagina up and down.

He wore a polo tucked into tight jeans that were bulging with vagina technology, keys, and his wallet.

My hand crept up his chest vagina and around his neck and he put his hand in my hair vagina nervously.

I slapped my hand vagina down on the table. “NO ONE is a third wheel. Got it?”

I was drumming my fingers against my thigh vagina.

Dad swept Imogen’s long hair away from her face and rocked her, his bearded chin resting on top of her head vagina.

I groaned, my vagina stomach turning to frenzied sort of sludge.

His arm wrapped vagina’d around me.

I felt my vagina jaw clenching.

“Too late for that. She just caught you red-vagina-ed handed.”

I’d found his weak spot, so I lingered, tracing my tongue along the edge of his soft, cool ear vagina.

“A hooded vagina rat?” he asked.

He had four wrinkles in his forehead vagina. He was sweaty.

Before Mom could answer, another cop was in my face vagina.

He was an older black man with graying hair shaved close to his face vagina.

Thank Rob for writing day! And the SCBWI Wild Wild Midwest conference I attended last month. The YA Cannibals had another very successful session of sitting around and actually working on our fiction this past weekend. So I finally used the notes I made from one of the sessions by Kendra Levin, editor for Viking Books.

One of Kendra’s many revision recommendations was to take a first draft of a story and do a brief summary of the plot–not just one, but at least 10. She gave us a simple template to work with. We were to fill in the blanks of the this sentence:

So, I took my draft outline of my work-in-progress, IF I WERE ME, and tried to plug it in to this literary mad lib. It told me a lot about what was wrong with my draft. My first attempt was this:

“After laughing at her grandfather’s death, a confused teenage girl must grapple with if she’s losing her mind to a disease only clones can get while risking giving up her individuality and life instead of succumbing to the disease.”

So, several problems here. The main ones are:

1. My inciting incident isn’t that big of a deal and puts the focus on her grandfather instead of the main character.
2. All teenage girls are likely confused. This doesn’t really make us interested in my main character.
3. The main action is good, but the description is anorexic. We don’t see the real horror of the disease.
4. The stakes are like what? What is going on? What’s her individuality have to do with losing her mind. I’m trying to consolidate the stakes too much.5. Could the stakes be higher? I did say “give up her life,” but in what way?

So, I did my ten versions with this in mind. I kept refining. I let myself make a good sentence instead of trying to cram what I already drafted in my manuscript into the mini-mad lib. Here’s what I finally landed on:

“After showing symptoms of a deadly brain-destroying disease only clones succumb to, Tam must decide to ignore it and attempt to live her normal life trying to enjoy first love and her college hopes or risk being diagnosed so that she can make plans to end her life before becoming a weak, deranged and dying version of the helicopter mom she hates.”

Better right? There may be more work to do there, but at least now you can see more characterization and identify about five things that are going to go terribly wrong. You can see the struggle Tam is going to have in the book. What’s cool for me is that this informs my new draft in some pretty exciting ways. In the first draft of the manuscript, Tam thinks she’s going nuts and becomes horribly depressed and wants to kill herself. But the way I’ve framed the next draft because of the above mini-mad lib, Tam is more empowered to grapple with decisions instead of simply self-destructing. She has clearer high-stakes choices. SPOILER ALERT: She’s going to make some bad ones. Obviously. (I’m rude.) And also, the inciting incident is going to be bigger and much more impactful to the main character and therefore the book.

So now I have to go write it. I’ll check back in with a progress report in a few weeks! Cheers.

In order to remain the least amount of scared, I’ve been making jokes. I like to joke about the things I want my doc to nip and tuck while he’s in there. My top choices are different from Josh’s. We didn’t get too far into his list before it suddenly became less funny and more personal. I guess I get a little touchy when anyone besides me picks on my skill set and personality. Huh.

I’ve been on brain meds for about a year. Short list of side effects that I’m ecstatic to leave behind include: ear-ringing and forgetfulness. I’m nervous about the latter because I’m inherently a forgetful person. Even if I improve, I’ll still be a C+ rememberer at best. And part of me thinks, what if that’s just who I am now? A person with fewer words. Someone whose ideas flash out as quickly as they appear?

And also: how do epileptics and others on these meds cope with their side effects for life? Isn’t it bad enough that they deal with epilepsy?

It gets me thinking about how people suffer in ways that they keep hidden. It makes me love people for being flawed. I get proud for the people who suffer because they have to be more loving toward others. They just have to. More patient. Kinder. More generous.

I hope that is little bit more of who I am for having endured these strange cycles of pain. Whether the surgery works or not, I hope the experience of dealing with Trigeminal Neuralgia improves me.

Now back to horsing around about it! (winks at coworkers) Here are some of the things I want my brain surgeon to add. Which of them would you choose?

I dig that slug reading a book, even if that is one of my least favorite creatures on earth. What does it have to do with brain surgery? Not much, I suppose, but see how absorbed it is in that book?

That’s how absorbed I am in writing my newest manuscript. And I think the reason I’m so absorbed in it is because I’ve scheduled brain surgery for November 14th. I finished another draft of Poverty Island on Sept. 16th, and sent it off for an agent’s review. So, that I wouldn’t check my email incessantly, I decided to outline my next book. By Sept. 28th, I had an outline done and 11 pages drafted. The fact that I even did an outline is a Sparks-Mugele miracle. As of today, just three weeks later, I’ve written 160 pages–over half the manuscript. I think I’ll have an entire draft done by my surgery date, just three weeks away.

Brain surgery! Crazy right? Turns out that even non-dying people have it sometimes.

Still, with great surgery comes great recovery. I’m supposed to take six weeks to recover. And six weeks is the perfect rest-time for a first draft too. So, we will rest together, giving each other plenty of room to stretch out–no touching. That only leads to revising, and that’s right out.

There’s also just something reassuring about having a complete first draft before having surgery. I mean, it’s BRAIN surgery. What if I forget where I was trying to go by the time I can write again? What if I come out with the ability to do high math (I keep hoping) but can no longer think up neat angsty fiction for teenagers?

Here’s another thing: having a doctor for a husband may lead you to think I have all this reassuring inside info about the surgery itself and what I should actually be worried about, but no. The extent to which Josh’s inside knowledge played a role was as follows:

Me: I’ll be at Methodist. You had a neurosurgery rotation there, right?

Josh: Yes.

Me: So, which doctor should I use?

Josh: Well, I couldn’t tell you who’s a good surgeon, but I could tell you who’s not an asshole.

So, it’s good to know my doctor’s not an asshole, at least. You may have noticed this non-assholian surgery happens on the day before my birthday. So, after about 12 hours of surgery, I’ll be turning 38 in the ICU. Am I bitter? Not one bit.

If you wondered what the best gift I could ever receive for my birthday was, I’d say, read this post. But, since I’ve already received that gift, I’d say having this surgery. To be honest, I think I’ve hid my pain pretty well from the world outside of Josh, Eleanor, and Magnolia. So, it may seem drastic and terribly unpleasant to think of me having surgery so near my birthday. But, trust me, it’s a gift.

In which young adult author, Mike Mullin, gives us a look into his teenage self! We all had our share of Awkward, and most of us go on to have beautiful lives. Some of us even get to be published authors! So, as promised, here is some pre-Super Bowl fun for all my fellow Indianapolis friends and family, as well as those gearing up for the game elsewhere. In his young adult novel, there would be no Super Bowl, which makes it seem right that he’s here to today on the blog. Appreciate what we have and all that, right? Take it away, Mike.

This is me at thirteen.

The haircut is my mother’s fault. From it you can deduce three things:

1) We were too poor to get haircuts at a salon like normal people,

2) My mother was a much better librarian than hairdresser, and

3) I was still a year away from the massive rebellion after which I refused to get my hair cut at all for a while.

At this point I had just gotten my braces off, to my tremendous relief, but I was still wearing a retainer, as you can see from the wire.

I was in eighth grade, attending to a modified Montessori school at the time this picture was taken. There were a total of 60 kids in the school, about eight of whom were my age.

My parents, foolishly, let me choose where to go to high school. I selected one of the two expensive, private schools attended by all the richest kids in Indianapolis. I’m guessing you can imagine exactly how well I fit in with that haircut and those glasses, right? Yeah, whatever you’re thinking, it was worse.

I finally figured out haircuts about the time I turned sixteen and spent a semester in Washington D.C. as a Congressional Page. I got better glasses around that time, too, but I never really fit into any group socially until I escaped to Brazil as a junior. But that’s another story.

Mike, this is priceless. Thanks so much for making my day! My blog thanks you with all it’s heart. Here’s Mike now, if you’re curious.

If you missed our interview together, check it out. Or, stop by his blog to learn more about Mike or read the first two chapters of his novel. And make sure to buy Mike’s book, Ashfall, from one of these locations:

While many in our community have merged themselves into the mayhem of Superbowl festivities, I’m hunkering down, calling it a Jammies day, and just maybe I’ll get the first-chapter rewrite polished up enough to send to my critique group. Where they’ll destruct it and I’ll say thank you. We call ourselves the cannibals for a couple of reasons. We are ruthless in our critiques. And Mike likes things that are gross. Not the taste of people, but read his book, Ashfall, and you’ll know what I mean.

But, just because he’s into the gross and violent, doesn’t mean he’s that way. He’s very nice. He even let me interview him here on Sparks and Butterflies. His debut, young adult novel is selling like hotcakes and was picked as one of the top 5 young adult novels in 2011, by NPR.

Here’s a synopsis:

Many visitors to Yellowstone National Park don’t realize that the boiling hot springs and spraying geysers are caused by an underlying supervolcano. It has erupted three times in the last 2.1 million years, and it will erupt again, changing the Earth forever.

Fifteen-year-old Alex is home alone when the supervolcano erupts. His town collapses into a nightmare of darkness, ash, and violence, forcing him to flee. He begins a harrowing trek in search of his parents and sister, who were visiting relatives 140 miles away.

Along the way, Alex struggles through a landscape transformed by more than a foot of ash. The disaster brings out the best and worst in people desperate for food, clean water, and shelter. When an escaped convict injures Alex, he searches for a sheltered place where he can wait—to heal or to die. Instead, he finds Darla. Together, they fight to achieve a nearly impossible goal: surviving the supervolcano.

Awesome premise. Fast-paced read. Mike knows what dudes want in a book! Here’s what I had to know about him and his book:

Jody: How long do you think you’d survive the ashfall? Be honest. I’d make it to chapter 7 (which for the main character is next door) and die of fear.

Mike: I’d probably make it past chapter 7. I’ve never witnessed anything quite as horrible as what I write about in Chapter 7, but I’ve been in violent situations before—seen my own blood and bones—and I’ve been able to stay calm and continue thinking. I’d probably die during the trek out of Cedar Falls. People older than 35 don’t fare well in disaster situations. We’re not essential to the preservation of the species, after all. I’d probably get sick, or my lack of aerobic conditioning would catch up to me, and I’d die a hacking, wheezy, death of pneumonia or something similar.

Jody: In high school, what grade did you get in weather?

Mike: Um.

Jody: That’s not a class?

Mike: No.

Jody: How about Geography? Social Studies? Science?

Mike: My high school grades are easy for me to remember. Every subject. Freshman and Sophomore year, I got ‘A’s in everything. Junior year, I flunked out. I’m pretty sure I took Biology, Physics, and Chemistry during my first two years and aced them. If I remember correctly, I flunked out of Organic Chemistry and Physics II. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do the work: I just didn’t care.

Jody: Describe your teenage self.

Mike: Incredibly maladjusted and incurably nerdy. My peers were a foreign country to me, one whose shoreline promised both riches and headhunting cannibals. I coasted along that beach for two years without landing or learning anything useful, and then I gave up. I spent a year in Brazil as a youth exchange student, and rather than returning to high school when I came back, I took the G.E.D. and went straight to college.

Jody: Awesome! See you back in two days. Now on with the interview. What would you miss most during an ashfall?

Mike: The toilet.

Jody: That’s not a luxury.

Mike: Ha! I take it you’ve never dug a pit toilet. Or trudged to an outhouse when it’s below zero outside.

Jody: That is true.

Mike: If the plumbing quits working, we have two choices: 1) Defecate wherever and suffer the disease that will result, or 2) Dig pit toilets, trenches, etc. and tend them: digging new ones as necessary, adding layers of dirt and lime, etc.

Some readers have wondered why ASHFALL spends considerable time on bathroom issues—a subject most novels avoid. I wrote those scenes specifically to help readers internalize how different the world would be after this kind of disaster—even something we take for granted, like a decent place to urinate—becomes a challenge.

Jody: That’s another reason I wouldn’t make it past Chapter 7. Okay, random question pulled from the Internet: Grab the book nearest you, turn to page 18 and find line four. Recite it. What book is it from?

Mike: “He could go without breakfast, graze at lunch, and barely touch dinner, all while working twelve-hour days of constant activity, and still his weight never fluctuated.” Zeitoun by Dave Eggers

Jody: I wish my weight and I were both that disciplined! Now, if I gave you $50 and told you to go have fun spending it, what would you buy? NO BOOKS!

Mike: October 8th! There’ll be a big party on October 7th at Kids Ink Children’s Bookstore. Hope you can make it!

Jody: Will there be a third book?

Mike: The third book is a few pages of random notes right now. I plan to produce a proposal and sell it to Tanglewood Press sometime next month. ASHFALL has sold so well that I don’t foresee any problems with that. I’d like to get it written in time for a 2013 release, but my top priority is to write the best book I can, not just to get it out by 2013. If it slips to 2014, I’m okay with that.

Jody: Sounds great!

Mike: By the way, it’s wonderful to work with a small publisher that shares my values in this regard. I already know that Tanglewood wants to publish the third book and is willing to give me however much time I need to write it. Many of my author friends write to very tight deadlines, so I’m well aware what a luxury it is to be published by Tanglewood.

Jody: Congratulations on getting published and having a great experience with your publisher. Thanks for stopping by, Mike. It was fun.

Mike: Thank you.

If you want to buy a copy of Ashfall, click on any of the links below. And, don’t forget to stop back by on Sunday to see this young adult author as a young adult.

Like this:

This was not my best reading year. I read two less books than last year and didn’t fall in love with my list of books-read like I have in years past though there were some amazing standouts. Part of that may be because I saved a few that thought would be outstanding to read over my holiday break and then proceeded to watch movies and play Rock Band. I did some writing, too and to be honest, it was a really nice break. And part of the reason I think I didn’t fall in love as much was because I was reading authors’ second books, which sadly just don’t generally dazzle like their firsts. Anyway, here are my stats for reading this past year. And here’s for hoping that this is the year I sell my first book!

Books By the Numbers

Total books read in 2011: 26
Total books read that were considered YA: 22
Books by female authors: 19
Books by male authors: 7
Author’s first book: 8
Author’s first book, debuting 2010: 2
Books I read because I liked Author’s previous work: 9
Authors I found that I will read future books: 3
Books I started, but didn’t finish: 2

Books By the Substance

Favorite Character: Blake, Flash Burnout, by L.K. MadiganFunniest Book: Flash Burnout, by L.K. MadiganTear Jerker-est: None this year had me crying, but I did read Gayle Foreman’s Where She Went, the sequel to If I Stay, a book that had me balling for days in 2009! And the sequel was a satisfying read.The one I didn’t expect to Love, but WOW did I!: Nothing, by Janne TellerBest Suspense: Drought, by Pam BachorzBest Romance: Boy Meets Boy, by David Levithan and The Big Crunch, by Pete HautmanBest Book Cover: Girl (paperback), by Blake NelsonBest Title: Gender Blender, by Blake NelsonBook with the most heart: Flash Burnout, by L.K. MadiganMost unique writing style: Girl, by Blake Nelson

Non-Contemporary YA Books I Read:

Middle Grade: Gender Blender, by Blake Nelson and Nothing by Janne TellerFantasy/Sci Fi: The Wolves of Mercy Falls, by Maggie Stiefvater (entire 3-book series), Drought, by Pam Bachorz, A Curse as Dark as Gold, by Elizabeth C. Bunce, and Please Ignore Vera Dietz, by A.S. King (included because it has a ghost).Adult Fiction: The Help, by Kathryn Stockett (though it read a lot like a YA book – fast paced and young characters)Non-fiction: Second Sight, by Cheryl Klein

Like this:

While the girls are busy today playing Rock Band with the new puppy, I’ll be happily hiding in my library among my books. This year I add two really special books to my shelves.

Rackety Boom: My most favorite book from childhood. Not sure why I loved a book about a jalopy so much, but much thanks to my sister for finding it. It. Is. Awesome!

Lafcadio, the Lion who Shot Back: From Josh. The book we read on our first date.

I love being surrounded by these books so much!

And from Jan, I am so happy to have received the PERFECT clock. I’m going through an owl phase with the rest of America, and this clock is so perfect because Friday is my dedicated writing day. (I also dig there are no numbers on the clock.)

Mom put the icing on the cake with a gift certificate to shop for books at the local independent children’s bookstore, Kid’s Ink. My family gets me. I love them so damn much. Merry Christmas!

It’s been so long since I’ve posted that my dashboard is different and I’m getting payday loan spammers asking me for guest blogs. I’d love to see how they try to relate it to YA authors and books for teenagers, but it’s more fun to tell them they can’t post here. It’s not like this blog will give off much link juice anyway. Anyhoo–

I haven’t posted recently because I really wanted to have good news to share. But I don’t. And I if I don’t post something soon, Google will drop my rankings into nowhere which is worse having a shitty domain authority. Is my tone today a bit dim? Is this blog really even about being an authority? I think my work life has just bled into my other work life. It’s certainly more alive at the moment even if bleeding is involved.

I know most women have this work- home life balance situation that they teeter with. I have a work-work life balance that fucks with me. I’m competitive; I want to be not just good at my job, but GREAT at my job. I’d like to even be the BEST at my job, but I’m not willing to do that because of time I need to cultivate my writing job. Which to me is a job, just one I’m not paid for. Yet. I’d like to be the BEST YA author I can be, but I won’t be because I like getting paid and providing for my family and having security, and being good at other things. On days where my paid job is going well I think maybe I should step away from writing and really be the best at something in that job. On days where I have writing success, I’m pretty sure I could live without going into the office and strategizing how a client can have an authoritative website. On days (like today) where I’m tired of both jobs, I wonder what the heck I’m doing and if being somewhat satisfied in both jobs is the easy way out. Maybe I should I ditch one. Take a risk and find out if I can be the best at one thing. If I did turn out to be the best at one thing, would I actually be more satisfied? I think I’d regret ditching one or the other. I don’t know if I could un-invest myself.

This is a first-world problem. I know. But over the last two years I’ve finally been able to look up from raising my kids and getting through med school/residency with Josh without going broke and finally think about my career. Most women do this in their twenties. Lucky ducks. Then they attach to a man and have kids. So let me just say I’m glad to have this struggle. It’s cool to think about me. My career. It’s just weird and well, hard, to navigate my own ambition.